Sulking and spinning

A week or so on from the last post and not much has happened.

The failure of the 13mile South Downs ride has resulted in a sulk of epic proportions. I decided I hated cycling, which is probably not the best stand point for an incompetent cyclist to take only 8 weeks away from the 100. Training has become a shackle, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays are now right offs because of training. I have dutifully gone to spin sessions but take little joy in them. I think they are paying off though. Whilst I am by far still the redist participant in the room - even my legs go a strange crimson colour - I can now breath through out most of the session. I'm finding that I can generally keep up with the drills and my recovery is getting faster. Annoyingly this means I need to keep going.

In my sulk I decided to refuse to cycle last weekend. In typical Tor and Nick fashion this was the one weekend Nick seemed to actually want to take me out for a training ride. Despite numerous attempts to coax me onto my bike we ended up spending Saturday punting down the canals of Oxford drinking wine, eating chocolate and listening to Opera. I have to say this is FAR better than haling myself up hills and having panic attacks. I suppose we did take the tandem into town, so my legs did some work, but probably not enough to counter the whole rack of ribs I binge ate that evening. It was very much an anti-training weekend.

But good things can't last forever and the mini-break from training needs to stop. This week I have not been as dutiful, but more because life has got in the way rather than actively avoiding training.

I took Monday off work to help a friend with her PHD in neuroscience. This was also a valued opportunity to see what is left of my pre-frontal cortex after the horse riding accident. As I haven't heard anything to the contrary I can only assume my brain is still in tact, more or less. Anyway, as I had the whole day off work it meant I could cycle to Clandon in the afternoon when there are fewer cars out to kill me. This is the problem with cycling around Guildford. People actually WANT to kill you. The route to Clandon does have cycle paths, but due to a lack of for sight in road planning the cycle lanes actually leave the roads too narrow to use. The net result is that drivers drive with there wheels on the cycle lane line and smack you with their wing mirrors. Fun. Guildford planners also like to lure you into a false sense of security with said cycle routes and then end them at precisely the moment you need them - like the Stoke interchange! I can tell you from terrifying past experience that Ladymead is exactly where you don't want to be on a Friday rush hour on a Brompton. The terror. Anyway as it was, the cycle to Clandon on the Brompton was actually quite pleasant (I took the Brompton as I didn't want to have to deal with SPD fails). The sun was out and all the spin classes meant that I could cycle there without getting out of breath. The cycle back was slightly more fraught as I got caught up in school collection hell, but the Chelsea tractors could get enough speed up to kill me in the grid lock, which I took as a bonus.

Tuesday spinning was cancelled because relatives were over from France and I wanted to see them. I think that is a legitimate excuse.

Wednesday I went to the later spin class after horse riding. It was lead by the nice young fitness instructor. I don't think he is a cyclist. He wears loose over-shorts to cover his dignity - something a real cyclist would never spare you. I real cyclist shaves his legs and displays with great pride which side he is hanging. I swear I was nearly hypnotised by one spin instructors tackle as it bobbed left/right/left/right for the hour. Had he been shouting different instructions I could have left that spin session believing I was a chicken. Anyway, nice young fitness instructor makes up for his lack of cycling knowledge with good tunes. I just phase out his weird leaning instructions and bizarre warm down.

Thursday was spent eating Chinese take away. OK I probably could should have gone to a spin class. Which just leaves today, which is looking jam packed with looking after 3 horses, a fiancé, and seeing my sister as she is over from Belgium.

This weekend I will do better though. I plan on doing a sportive on Sunday which will hopefully help me with my confidence on my road bike as well as build up that elusive extra knee (the weird muscle cyclists get above their actual knee). I'm going to try and see how fast I can cycle 40 miles. Place your bets now.

 

fighting the fear

Writing the last blog was unexpectedly cathartic. I had started writing it purely because I was in the mood to write and the cycle challenge seemed as good a topic as any other. By the end of the post however, I had come to the conclusion that the Surrey 100 was more about helping me overcome my negative mind-set than about hauling myself the 100 miles. This is quite a revelation! So inspired by my new found insight I approached the Friday session with determination to be positive.

The spin session was run by my favourite instructor (more partial to 80s cheese than dance) and his playlist started with the song 'Happy' which I felt had to be a good Omen. Every time the negative daemon piped up I forced a new voice into my head - the chirpy cheerleader. She sporadically sings happy little phrases like 'your doing great'. When the daemon goads 'you won't make it till the end of the set' the cheerleader interjects 'Don't worry, see if you can make another minute, you are doing brilliantly'. At the end of that minute she congratulates 'Brilliant well done you, how about another 30 seconds more?' and if I manage that she asks the same question again. Eventually when I have to take a break and my daemon smirks 'lazy' the cheerleader corrects 'that was still 3 extra minutes then you thought you could do and it is good to pace yourself'. And so the spin session continued with the daemon on one shoulder, the cheerleader on the other both vying for my attention. The cheerleader seems false and irritating, like an overfamiliar American tourist, but I have to admit I felt a good deal happier at the end of the session then when it was just me and the daemon on my back.

Unfortunately the addition of a positive voice in my head.... I just realised I'm well on my way to a diagnosis of schizophrenia but never mind... has not translated into more training.

At the weekend I tried to convince Nick to take me for a long training ride. I imagined that Nick would be delighted by my sudden desire to join him in his spandex fetish. But alas when it comes to taking me out on an actual training ride he seems more reluctant. Perhaps the reality does not quite match the fantasy. So rather begrudgingly Nick takes me out for a steady 30 miles with some friends in Oxford. Whilst the ride was lovely, I don't think it got me any further towards my goal of 100 miles in six and a half hours.

On Tuesday I had arranged to go for an evening cycle with Becky. The weather was perfect, my bike was working, I had company, I really had no excuse not to go, but somehow the training ride ended up with me and Becky eating chocolate cake in my garden. Whilst the cake was lovely, this again gets me no further towards me goal. In fact the chocolate cake will be working against me!

Wednesday I was busy horse riding, and Friday I was in Manchester so the only day I had left for training was Thursday. OK I had no choice but to do the double - two spin sessions in one evening! I got myself psyched up, bought copious amounts of water and energy drink, I was all set, but then the second class was cancelled due to lack of interest. (It was a beautiful evening, anyone in their right mind would be out on a bike rather than in the sweaty studio so I am not surprised). Bother! Oh well, at least I managed one spin session. It was the Eastern European and her dance music marathon so I was secretly pleased that I didn't have to do 2 hours of the session. I don't think I tried as hard as I could have though, perhaps the cheerleader is too soft on me.

And then the weekend came. Friday night was spent rolling around my friends living room floor singing show tunes in an alcohol induced frenzy. Saturday was spent at a hen do, deeply regretting Friday night activities. Which only left Sunday for training. Unfortunately Nick and I had miss timed our binge drinking and he was a day behind. We had planned to spend Sunday cycling around the Isle of White but the inconsiderate timing of the Isle of White festival (this weekend) and Nicks excesses on Saturday night meant that our plans were scaled back to a 13 mile bimble around the South Downs...

...I say 13 mile bimble, but I think I should point out that the South downs, in actual fact, have an equal number of ups, which should not be underestimated. To be fair to Nick, he was a good sport in going at all as he was in no fit state. The legs were going but no one was home upstairs. Zombi Nick led me up seemingly endless hills. I puffed and panted and hauled myself up. At first I was staying fairly chipper, keeping the happy sound track of the cheerleader in my ear. As the hills rolled on this became harder. The panting changed to wheezing.  Zombi Nick was struggling to read the sat nav, resulting in some sudden stops and near SPD fails which shook my confidence. The cheerleader ran out of happy phrases. The daemon noted that Zombi Nick was still not out of breath. In fact he was not perceptively breathing. Either he really was a Zombi or I was terribly unfit - not fit enough for the Surrey 100. The hills got steeper, I started to wobble. My lungs burned and could not draw in enough breath. My head felt hot and my vision darkened around the edges. If I went any slower I would fall off. I started to panic. What if I fell, I would not be able to get back up. I car could come racing round the corner and I would be unable to get out of the way. I started to really freak out when I realised that my feet where clipped in, I can't stop! In a desperate panic I tried to unclip both feet, not easy to do when you are having do use all your weight to push up the hill. My heal missed the peddled as I tried to force my right foot down and I fell sideways. PANIC. My unclipped foot stopped me hitting the floor but the damage was done. My whole body was shaking violently and I could not catch my breath. My limbs felt weak and far away and my chest and thought tightened in fear. We are now into a full blown anxiety attack. Nick managed to shake of his Zombi state and tried to calm me, but calming someone out of a panic attack is almost impossible. Luckily I am an anxiety disorder veteran and after a minute or so I managed to find the quiet corner of my brain still able to think rationally. YOU ARE HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. YOU ARE HYPERVENTERLATING THERFORE BLOWING OFF ALL THE CARBON DIOXIDE IN YOUR BODY. IF YOU CONTINUE YOU WILL FEEL WORSE AND YOUR MUSCULES WILL CONTRACT. YOU CANNOT HYPERVENTALATE IF YOU ARE CYCLING UP THE HILL. CYCLE. And so I cycled through it, and got to the top a little shaken but a good deal calmer. The rest of the ride was a bit easier, we had reached the top of the hill and were about to experience the 'downs'. The several miles of downhill back to the car were refreshing and managed to wash away my earlier panic.

But my confidence remains shaken. I need to keep training. I need to get a lot better but my fear is stopping me from just getting on my bike and riding on my own. The 100 feels like a mountain that I am going to struggle to climb.

 

new challenges: training for the Surrey 100

So this blog was set up in 2010 to document my travels across Asia and reassure any interested parties that I was 'still alive'. Four years on and I'm feeling the need to blog again. This time I intend to prattle on about a different kind of journey: the quest to become a spandex clad cycle warrior... or worrier in my case.

My decision to enter the Surrey 100 was perhaps surprising given my complete ineptitude on a bike and my strong dislike of cycling. The blog title 'still alive!' is just as fitting for the cycling challenge as it is for traveling across Asia. I admit the entry was rash, and I've considered cancelling it on many occasions, but this is a challenge my subconscious is making me face.

The cycling thing all started when Nick - my then boy friend now fiancé - started to develop a passion for cycling. This soon developed into an obsession, near fetish, for donning lycra and destroying his crown jewels with a road bike. I realised that if I were to ever see Nick or the remnants of his crown jewels again, I would have to get back on a bike. And so back on the bike I got, and with gritted teeth I peddled desperately after him. Unsurprisingly we made it as far as the end of the road before we had the 'would you wait for me/could you hurry up' argument. So keen to find a solution to our dilemma Nick invested in a tandem. This was brilliant, Nick could peddle to his hearts content and I could be towed along nattering away to him whilst admiring the view... OK I admit I got the better end of the deal. The tandem worked out well, Nick towed me dutifully across England, France, Austria, Slovakia and Hungry. In fact we like tandems so much we are collecting them. We now have two (possibly the most pointless thing for a couple to own is two tandems but hey ho) and ridiculously have plans of building our own BAMBODEM! Alas I feel like I'm going off topic so back to the point. So yes cycling tandems was great, but gave me no real sense of achievement as Nick does the lion share of the work.

And then the Surrey 100 happened. I remember Nick steaming past with pure joy on his face as I cheered him on from the side-lines. I also remember lots of more normal well-balanced individuals trogging past with determination. A seed of an idea formed in my mind - 'what if, just for once, you took part rather than watched'. Boyed with the knowledge that Boris Johnston had managed to complete the challenged I filled in the form. After all if middle-aged well-fed Boris made it, surely I could get my slim 28 year old body round the circuit right? How hard can it be?

As it turns out quite hard.

My training thus far has been somewhat hap-hazard. Nick has built me a road bike (he really is quite lovely) and it comes complete with drop handle bars and SPD peddles. I have so far only had one SPD induced fall. I managed the clasic unclip on the left foot, but lean right when I came to a stop. The net result was a comic slow motion fall, much like a drunk at the end the night, and Nick found me collapsed on his lawn after hearing me squeak on the way down. After this incident I now unclip both feet at the slightest suggestion that we will be stopping and so I spend most of the time peddling with my heels. I have been on a couple of training rides where, to my horror, I am beginning to understand Nick's obsession with cycling. The elation at whizzing down the hills at speed with the wind in your face. The beautiful countryside rolling out ahead of you, with only the sound of insects and the constant soothing woosh of the bike in your ears. The strange calmness that can come over you after your legs settle into a constant rhythm and are warmed by the exertion of your muscles. The absolute relaxation after a hard ride where you are too exhausted to think or worry or feel. But I'm still not sold.

The thing about cycling is, for the large part, you are silent. And when I am silent, I have to spend time with myself. Cycling has made me realise what a negative human being I am. I absolutely hate my own company. So for me the real challenge for the Surrey 100 will be to shut out my inner monologue.

I have a little over 2 months before the 100 and I am woefully unprepared. Training has been set back after a cold and a head injury (not cycle related) prevented me from getting on the bike for 3 weeks. As a result Wednesdays spinning session was never going to be easy. I still had a splitting headache and ached all over from Mondays pole class (don't ask) and Tuesdays horse ride, but with only 2 months to go I daren't miss the spin class. I arrived late, due to traffic, and the room was already alive with sweeting bodies and pumping dance music when I walked in. Luckily there was a bike free near the door and I did not attract too much attention from the eastern European instructor who was to be our overlord for the next forty-five minutes. I set myself 5 minutes of easy spinning to wake up my tired and achy legs. The others were already jumping up and down to the instructors demands of 'two, three, seat'. Five minutes passed too quickly and it was soon my turn to join the torcher. 'Hill climb, add on resistance' our master announces as the beat of the dance track slows to a steady ominous rhythm. 'Six minutes position 3 in, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1' and I stand and begrudgingly begin the climb. Turns out spinning in a negative mood really brings out the worst in my inner demeans. With each stride my daemon squeaks 'lazy, week, pathetic'. I see the others pound away seemingly unaffected by the arduous task. 'Your the worst one here' goads the daemon as I feel the sweat drip from my forehead. 'You'll never make it to the end of the first 6 minutes' it chides and I feel the eyes of the other participants on me waiting for me to sit early, judging my ineptitude. I struggle on determined and make it to the end of the first 6 minutes for fear of judgment from the rest of the class (who in reality did not even see me come in). And so the next thirty-four minutes continue in much the same fashion. The horrid dance music drones on as the dominatrix instructs and the daemon whips my moral. I see me failing on a hill on the 100, collapsing into other cyclists. I see the sweeper car pick me up. I see me having to explain how I failed to friends and family. I see it all again and again and I feel like crying by the end of the class.

Needless to say I am not looking forward to going back to spinning this evening. But needs must. lets hope I find the mute button on my daemon, or at the very least they play 80s cheese instead of dance music.